


88: Flying

by gillasue345



Series: 100 Prompts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Drug Use, Endverse, M/M, Unbeta'd, canon typical gore, endverse!destiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillasue345/pseuds/gillasue345
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been almost two days since the bombing of St. Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	88: Flying

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a 100 Prompts Challenge I am attempting to complete.

88: Flying 

September, 2012

St. Louis, Missouri

The makeshift hospital was little more than a falling down warehouse on the outskirts of town, but Dean didn’t care. He headed toward the river;  where the refugees from the Hill had told him a hospital had been erected shortly after the bombing. 

His Jeep, woefully overdue for a tune up that he simply didn’t have time to complete, groaned in protest as he sped through the debris littered streets. 

It had been almost two days since the bombing of St. Louis. 

President Palin, in her infinite wisdom, decided the best way to stop the westward expansion of the Croatoan virus in major cities was to set off fire bombs throughout the entire Midwest Hot Zone. She hadn’t even given the civilians trapped in Busch Stadium time to evacuate before the fire bombs rained down upon the city. 

Dean glanced out the window. All that was left of the skyline now was the Arch, unharmed as it stood sentry over the river. 

A groan from behind distracted him from what was left of the road and Dean looked in the rearview mirror at Cas. He was lying, unconscious, across the entire backseat. Blood was streaming from a large cut on this temple down his neck and into his dirty plaid shirt. Another dark stain was blooming near the bottom of the tattered shirt, growing larger by the minute. 

Dean glanced back up at the road and cursed, swerving to miss a pile of Croats in the road. They still smoldered, smoke rising from the ashes of their bodies two days later. 

Even as ash and bone, the demon disease inside the Croats fought to animate what was left of their bodies and spread its evil. Dean turned at the end of the road and a hastily painted red cross signifying the hospital came into view. 

Cas groaned again as he awoke and Dean sped up. The Jeep bore the symbol of humanity, but the guards at the gate lifted their weapons as he approached. He honked twice and came to a screeching halt, pulling his travel papers from the passenger seat. 

A man with a long, red gash across his check held up a hunting rifle as Dean rolled down the window, his hands lifted in the air. 

“What business do you have here?” the man asked and Dean handed over his papers. 

“My name is Dean Winchester. I am the leader of the Northern District and I need your help,” he said. 

The small crowd that had gathered at the gate started murmuring amongst themselves, but Dean didn’t break eye contact with the guard. 

The man looked into the backseat. “Who do you have with you?” 

“He’s my—” Dean began. The word ‘everything’ caught in this throat. He glanced in the backseat to where the blood had pooled into the cup holder. “He’s the only person I have left in this fucking miserable world.” 

The guard’s hard gaze softened before he bit his lip. “Have either of you been bitten?” he asked. He took in the large stain on the front of Dean’s Henley. “Or bled on?” 

Dean shook his head. “No, we were in one of the buildings downtown when the floor collapsed. The rest of our group was… wiped out. Please man, I just… please just help us.” Dean’s voice broke and he bit his lip. 

The guard finally nodded and the gate opened. Dean squealed his tires pulling into the lot. At the door a small group of people in dirty white aprons met them. He jumped out, slamming the car door shut, then he opened the backseat, revealing Cas’ dark head. 

“Cas, wake up. We’re here. Come on man. The docs are gonna take care of you,” he said. Dean carefully pulled Cas to him, hoisting him up into his arms. He tried to hide the panic in his voice. 

He couldn’t lose Cas too. Not after everything they’d been through. 

Since his Fall, Cas had become despondent. He rarely ate and more often than not Dean had found him in their cabin passed out on whatever grain alcohol the camp drunk had managed to cook up in his makeshift still by the river. He had lost so much weight that it was easy for Dean to lift him in his arms. The Cas he knew, the Cas he _loved_ , had been gone for a long time. 

_Don’t think about that, just focus on getting him healed. Then we can focus on getting him well._

A woman with a red cross painted across her white apron flashed a light in Cas’ blue eyes. 

“What happened?” she asked, all business. 

“A piece of rebar went through his side,” Dean said. “I don’t think it hit any organs, but he’s bleeding pretty bad,” he said. 

She took Cas’ pulse and her brow knit together. 

“He barely has a pulse,” she replied and she pulled out a stethoscope. Just then a transport of survivors from Busch Stadium pulled in and several of the nurses went to triage the newcomers. 

They were alone now as she began to dress the wound on his temple. It was shallow, but bloody, and she pulled Dean’s hand over to the cut. 

“Put pressure on that,” she said curtly. 

Dean hesitated. They should probably know that Cas wasn’t exactly human. But these days, with the Croatoan virus spreading to the major cities faster than the National Guard could keep up and the lid blown on the supernatural world, that was a terrible risk to take. They had to be careful who they told because anything with any hint of supernatural origin was usually shot on sight. 

Dean studied her as she cut Cas’ tattered shirt open. Blood began to pool on the veneer desk and Dean focused intently on the doctor instead of the Rorschach stain steadily growing on the fake wood top. 

The woman was young and pretty but the smear of blood across her high cheekbone jarred his senses. Her bronze skin was smooth and her brown eyes flashed in the weak sunlight peeking through the smoky clouds above. 

She was wearing a leather band around her neck with a wooden carving of a bear resting over her heart. Dean thought quickly. During his time riding alone, he’d taken on a lot of cases in the southwest. One of those cases had been with the Hopi tribe in southern Utah. He remembered getting intel from a healer on the reservation who had a similar sigil. The Hopi were much more open to the idea of a supernatural force in the universe than the average WASP, so he may have a chance getting her to understand. 

“Listen,” he said as he pulled the gauze away from Cas’ cut to check it. The bleeding had stopped. He bent down to whisper in her ear, “He’s not… he’s not a typical case.” Dean pressed the gauze back to Cas’ sweaty forehead.

Something in her gaze suggested she understood him. “What is he?” she whispered back. 

Dean caught her gaze and made a split decision. “Angel.” 

Her eyebrows shot way up but she didn't say anything beyond: “Does he heal?” 

“Not… anymore. He’s… he’s fallen.” 

“Okay. Will you help me? I need to inspect the wound. What happened?” 

“I uh…” Dean pressed the gauze tighter to the gash across Cas’ forehead. His entire body was buzzing with unused adrenaline. His thoughts were scattered, fragmented. The woman pressed her cold hands to the bottom of his chin and forced him to make eye contact with her. 

“It’s going to be alright. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened, sweetheart.” Her voice was calm and steady, with just a hint of a southern accent. 

 “We were… looking for something in one of the downtown buildings. Jeff… he used to be a fireman… said it was sound, but the building next door collapsed just as we made it to the fourth floor… Next thing I knew, the floor just fell out from under us. By the time it all settled, Cas and I were the only ones still breathin’, but a… a piece of rebar was sticking out of him…” 

Dean took a deep breath, trying to shake off the panic that had built within him when he saw Cas lying in that rubble, so broken from the strong powerful being he once was. Dean had thought that getting Cas out of the camp would pull him from his funk, make him see that he wasn’t useless without his powers. But with Cas’ blood drying on his hands, Dean could see what a terrible mistake it had been.

“I had to take it out of him in order to get us out of there, the roof was about to collapse… I think it just went through the side, but he was bleeding too much for me to patch it up myself and the medikit was… buried,” he finished. 

She pulled over a bag filled with salves and cleaned the area with an alcohol swab. 

The blood had begun to clot and she flashed her light over the cut. 

It was a small puncture wound right above his hip.

Cas was unconscious on the desk and she pulled out a scalpel in a sterile bag. “I need you to hold his legs. We ran out of anesthetic last night, so he’s going to wake up. I need you to keep him still okay?”

“Sure thing, uh… what’s your name?”

“Risa. Risa Guzman Hernandez.”

“Dean Winchester. This is Castiel.”

She paused for only a moment. “From Camp Chitaqua?” 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“I’ve got family up there,” she said before putting the blade to Cas’ hip. “Do you have him down?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, bracing Cas’ legs tighter against the table. 

She made one straight cut across the wound, applying more alcohol. Cas jerked slightly, but otherwise did not move. Dean held his breath as she pulled aside the small flap of skin from the incision. She did a cursory inspection of the wound before nodding to herself. 

“No major organs were hit,” she said and Dean “but it looked like he nicked a vein.” Dean exhaled. 

“Will he be okay?” he asked, his voice shaking. 

“We need to tie the vein off, but I think he’ll be fine. Hand me that clamp will you?” she asked and Dean took what looked to be a pair of sterilized pliers from the bag. She took them. “I need some sutures. Can you thread the needle?”

Dean nodded and set to work. They worked silently for a while as she sewed the cut up, Dean playing surgical tech as she put Cas back together. 

After applying one more layer of alcohol and digging a tetanus shot out of her bag, Risa declared Cas done. 

Dean sighed in relief and began to roll up his shirt sleeve. “Do you have any blood bags?” he asked and Risa narrowed her eyes. “I’m O Negative, and he needs a transfusion.” Dean explained staring down at Cas’ sickly pale skin. 

“Have you ever been bitten or infected with the virus?” she asked, and Dean shook his head. 

“No.” Risa bit her lip before nodding and pulling him over to a Red Cross van that was parked haphazardly in the middle of the warehouse. Dean tried to ignore the wails of a little girl as she held an older woman’s lifeless body. 

The van was nearly empty of supplies but Risa was able to find two donation kits stuffed away in one of the boxes. She took his blood with practiced ease. 

“What were you looking for?” she asked quietly as she pulled the needle out of his arm and handed over a small piece of gauze. 

Dean chuckled bitterly and pressed the gauze to the small droplet of blood that had sprouted against the crook of his elbow. “It doesn’t matter. It was already gone,” he finally said. 

They walked back over to where Cas was still sleeping. She pulled up a coatrack and hooked the blood bag to it, then inserted the IV into Cas’ arm. The blood flowed slowly into his body along with a bag of fluids and pain medicine she had scored from the Red Cross van.

Dean pulled up a crooked desk chair and sat down next to Cas. For the first time all day his body relaxed.

A woman carrying a small child yelled for Risa. “Keep an eye on him, when he wakes up, he’s gonna be sore.” She handed over a small vial of morphine and a syringe. “Just give him a little bit. Do you know how to use this?” Dean nodded She pressed her hand to the top of Dean’s forearm.

“Thank you,” he said. 

He pushed the chair closer to the desk, pulling Cas’ cold hand into his own. For the first time all day his body relaxed. Cas was fine. He was going to be fine. Risa patted him on the shoulder and went to help the other doctors. Dean watched her go.

Cas woke up some time later. He was groggy, but his color was already improving. Dean had just enough time to him what happened, give him a little bit more of the morphine, and gently press his lips to the tops of Cas’ fingertips before the narcotics kicked in and Cas fell back asleep. 

A few minutes later, the stress of the day combined with the fatigue of blood loss from his double donation, finally took its toll and Dean fell asleep. By the time he woke up the sun was sitting low in the sky. Cas was already awake. 

“Hey there,” Dean said rubbing his eyelids. 

“Hello Dean,” he replied and just for a moment, Dean could pretend he had the old Cas back. His stomach rolled and he coughed back a sob. Cas looked around at the makeshift hospital. “Where is Jeff? Marie?” 

Dean bit his lip. “They didn’t make it,” he said. Cas nodded slowly. He looked up at Dean. 

“Are you alright?” Cas lifted his hand to brush his knuckles across a bruise that had bloomed against Dean’s jaw. Dean pulled back from the caress, even if the gentle touch made warmth pool in the bottom of his stomach, made his throat tighten with the need to press closer. 

_What if he’d died too?_

“I’m fine, it’s you we need to worry about.” 

“I’m not going to die Dean,” Cas replied. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” 

Dean smiled. “How are you feeling?” Dean busied himself by checking Cas’ bandages.

“M’okay,” Cas pressed closer when Dean passed a hand over his forehead to check for temperature. “My side hurts.” 

“It’s gonna for a while, but the main thing we gotta worry about is infection so you’ve got to let me know if you get a fever alright?” Dean demanded, his gaze fierce. 

“I can do that,” Cas replied. His brow furrowed. “Dean, I’m going to be okay. I promise.”

Dean bit his lip, but his eyes softened. He brushed his knuckles over the scabs on the back of Cas’ hand. “I was so scared,” he admitted softly. 

“Did you find it?” Cas asked, changing the subject with all the subtlety of freight train. 

“No, it was long gone before we ever got to this shithole town. I always hated St. Louis.” 

“Then let’s blow this popsicle store,” Cas joked, butchering one of Dean’s favorite lines. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Can you even stand?” he asked. 

Cas pressed his lips together. “I don’t know,” he mused. “Let’s try it and see.” Castiel sat up with a pained groan, slowly swinging his legs over the edge of the table. 

“Whoa whoa, Cas. Slow down, man.” Dean rushed to steady him. 

“Just help me up, will ya?” Dean placed his hands on either side of the angel’s torso and helped him stand. “See? I can stand. Now let’s go,” Cas said, just before his knees gave out. Dean barely had enough time to heft Cas’s weight onto his shoulder before the other man hit the ground. 

“Cas, c’mon man. Let’s just get you better and then we’ll go home.” 

He sat Castiel down in the chair and busied himself with cleanup. In times like these, you didn’t leave any blood lying around. He grabbed one of the large towels and wiped up the thick red blood, before tossing it into the garbage bin next to the desk. 

Then he placed his hands underneath Cas’ armpits and hoisted him up until he was sitting back on the desk. Cas let Dean position him back onto the desk, lying down carefully. He favored his injured side, turning to face Dean, who sat back down in the seat. 

For a long moment they just looked at one another before Dean finally broke the silence.

“Cas,” he began, wincing when his voice broke. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he finally said. 

Cas bit his lip. They were chapped. Dean reached into his coat pocket. Leaning forward, he brushed a tube of Chapstick over Cas’ mouth. Cas grabbed his hand. 

“I love you, Dean.” he whispered softly in the small space between them. The small admission broke what little composure Dean had left. He let out a quiet sob, pressing his forehead to Cas’ sweaty brow. 

“I need you, Cas,” Dean cried. “I need you with me. You can’t go away. Promise me you won’t go away,” he began crying in earnest then. Cas pressed a hand to the back of Dean’s head, rubbing rhythmic circles in the short hairs on the back of his neck. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I won’t leave you.” 

Dean looked up. “Then why won’t you eat? Cas, you gotta take care of yourself, man. I can’t watch you wither away.” His green eyes were fierce. 

“Dean,” Cas began. “I don’t need to—food is scarce enough—”

Dean pulled back, pressing his hands on either side of Cas’ face. “No, Cas. You do. You do need to eat. I shouldn’t be able to lift you like I did. You need to promise me you will get healthy. Because Cas, I don’t know what’d happen if you left.”

Cas bit his lip again, but nodded, looking away. 

Dean sighed softly. “Here,” he said, pulling out the vial of morphine and handing it over. “Hold onto this. I’m gonna go get the doc and if she gives you the all clear, we’re getting out of this joint. We need to get back to Chitaqua, and I bet Chuck’s having a conniption.” 

He hesitated for the briefest moments before pressing the gentlest of kisses to Cas’ lips. 

“I love you, too,” he said. For the first time in weeks, Castiel smiled. 

Risa was asleep on one of the cots in the corner of the warehouse. Dean gently shook her awake and she groaned, turning towards the wall. 

“Hernandez,” Dean said. “Cas is up.” 

She grumbled under her breath but sat up. Risa pushed her bangs out of her eyes and yawned. 

“Is he talking? Responsive?” she asked. She stood and stretched. 

“Yeah, he seems fine. Weak. He couldn’t walk.” 

“Why on earth is he trying to walk?” she asked. 

“As he puts it, he wants to blow this popsicle store,” Dean chuckled. He followed her over to where Cas was sitting. 

Risa took out a flashlight and checked his pupils. “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

“Fine. I’d like to leave,” Cas replied, his voice clipped. 

“Yeah wouldn’t we all?” Risa murmured. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Feeling any chills?”

“No.” 

She nodded. “Well, angel, it looks like someone was watching out for you today” Risa smiled tightly then turned back to Dean. “He should be okay to travel.” 

Dean let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cuz we gotta get back north.” 

“Speaking of which,” Risa began. “Do you think I could hitch a ride?” she asked, her voice timid. “Most of the survivors are treated now, and my sister’s up there.” 

“Sure. We could always use a good doctor at the Camp. Who’s your sister?” 

“Aracely Campa,” she replied. “She’s there with her husband and her baby.” Risa’s voice sounded uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if her family was still at the Camp. 

Recognition flickered on Dean’s face. “Yeah! She goes by Ari right?” 

Risa nodded. “They’re okay then?” 

“Oh yeah, they’re fine. Gino is one of the best mechanics I’ve ever met. And Ari works as a field medic for us when we go out on mission.” 

Risa nodded. “That’s what her letters said. She said you were a good leader.” 

Dean half smiled, glancing down sheepishly. “I do the best I can,” he answered. “There’s plenty of room in the Jeep.”

She pressed her hand to his arm again. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. 

“How long do you think you need to pack up?” Dean asked. 

“I’m ready now,” she whispered. “The firebombs destroyed my apartment building.” 

 He nodded. 

“Okay. Can you help me get Cas to the car? A few months ago we found a Sam’s Club that wasn’t much destroyed, so I’m sure we could find you some stuff at home.

Risa shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Dean waved her off. 

“Consider it payment. For saving Cas’ life.” 

She bit her lip. “Okay,” she said simply. She helped Dean lift Cas and put him into the rolling desk chair, then Dean wheeled him slowly to the front door of the warehouse. She followed. 

“Do you have to tell someone you’re going?” 

She shrugged. “Not really,” she said. Dean nodded.

Sunlight was beginning to fade now, and they needed to get on the road. Nighttime was dangerous in the city. 

Someone had moved his Jeep. It was parked near the door, the keys still in the ignition. Dean took one of the towels he’d swiped from the Red Cross van and placed it over the dark stain on the backseat. Cas glanced down at it and shuddered. Dean smiled tightly and helped him to his feet. 

They struggled to get him in the backseat, but once he was inside, he lay down. 

Dean shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. They began to drive. 

It was dark by the time they made it out of the city. Twice Dean had swerved to avoid Croats on the road but by the time they made it to Highway 61, the moon had risen over the abandoned farmland of eastern Missouri. 

They drove in silence. The radio frequencies had been out of service since March, and Dean missed music. 

Cas fell asleep somewhere around Hannibal. Risa was quietly staring out the window. 

Dean felt his eyelids start to droop. 

“So where are you from?” he asked her, making conversation to stay awake. 

“I’m from Arizona,” Dean nodded. “I thought you were from the Southwest.” 

She glanced over. “Why is that?” she asked. 

Dean pointed at her necklace. “I once had a case in Utah. I ended up having to go to a Hopi reservation. One of the healers there had a amulet very similar to yours.” 

She palmed her necklace. “My grandfather gave me this when I graduated from Medical school.” 

She glanced over. “What do you mean, you were on a case?” she asked. 

“Well,” he said through a yawn, most people by now have heard about what all goes bump in the night. But before that it was pretty much a secret. Except for me and my family. I was raised to kill the monsters people didn’t believe in anymore. I was a hunter.” he paused. “Now I”m just a pawn in someone else’s game.” 

Risa nodded. “How long were you a hunter before the world turned to shit?” she asked, 

Dean sighed. “Practically my whole life.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m so sorry.” 

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault. It was a goddamn demon who took my life away from me,” 

“So they are real?” she asked. Dean checked himself. Most of the public hadn't been informed about the true nature of the Croatoan virus. 

“Yeah, bastards spread this fucking disease, tryin’ to wipe us out.” 

They fell into silence once more, only broken by another of Dean’s yawns. 

“I can drive for a while if you need to sleep,” she offered. “I got a few hours earlier and I’m fine.” 

Dean glanced over. The moon was full that night, providing good light to drive. He tried not to keep his headlights on too much at night. Looters tended to move in packs and attack cars on lonely highways. 

He glanced down at the gas gauge. It was nearing empty. 

“Gotta fill up here in just a bit, we’ll switch then?” 

She nodded and sat back, staring once more at the stars. 

Forty minutes later, Dean pulled into an abandoned rest stop near a minuscule town named La Grange. He went to the trunk where there were several full cans of gasoline waiting. 

He filled the tank up quickly, on guard for any incoming Croates. Most of the small towns had long since been abandoned, but every now and again there would be a hotspot, especially if it was near a river or lake. 

There was no one though and Dean handed off the keys to Risa, putting the empty can back in the trunk of the Jeep. 

Risa was a good driver. As a general rule, Dean didn’t like other people driving him. He wasn’t in control as a passenger, and it forced him into a state of vulnerability that was unacceptable in his line of work, but it felt good to give the reins over to Risa. 

He checked on Cas, who was lying flat out in the backseat, then closed his eyes, leaning the seat back as far as he could. A few seconds later he felt cool fingers card through his hair and he sighed, falling asleep almost immediately. 

By the time he woke up they were out of Missouri and well into were Minnesota. Risa had driven through the night, and made it through Iowa in record time. 

They stopped for a quick breakfast of jerky and water outside of Minneapolis. The weather had turned, the early fall air was crisp and light. Dean breathed deep. Fall had always been his favorite season. Risa checked on Cas’ wounds before they headed out. Cas took the front seat, letting Risa lay down in the back. Dean drove for a long time without either of them saying a word. 

Sometime in the midmorning, Cas had reached over to take Dean’s hand and they stayed like that as the Minnesota countryside faded into the dense national forest west of Lake Superior. 

They made it back to camp by mid afternoon. Risa had jumped out as soon as they stopped and after being waved through by the guard on duty Dean had pointed her in the direction of her sister’s cabin. 

“Meet me over there,” Dean said, pointing to a cabin right in the middle of the camp, “in a few hours and I will take you to your cabin okay?” Risa nodded and left. 

Dean helped Castiel up the stairs to their shared cabin. The bed was still unmade from the week before, when they had gotten wind of a possible hiding place for the Colt in St. Louis and left with Jeff and Marie as quickly as they could. 

He lay Cas down, pressing his fingertips to his forehead, checking for fever and then left him to rest. He needed to go see Jeff’s wife and Marie’s girlfriend. He needed them to know how they died. Why he couldn’t bring their bodies back with him. It was something he needed to tell to their face.

Four hours later, the sun was beginning to set—the days were getting shorter— and Dean was exhausted. Risa was getting set up in her new cabin by the makeshift hospital. He’d introduced her to Chuck and Annalise, and shown her the ropes. But the day was catching up to him. 

He grabbed a large bowl of stew from a pot in the mess hall and a hunk of bread. The venison was a little gamey, but the broth was nice and warm in the chilly night air. He let the bowl of stew warm his hands as he walked back to his cabin. 

Someone was playing a guitar near one of the many bonfires set up throughout the camp. 

The lights were off in the cabin. Dean shouldered open the screened door to find an empty room. 

He frowned. He was sure he’d left Cas in bed, and he was still too weak to really move around on his own… 

Dean set the bowl of stew on the rickety table. He checked in the bathroom, but it was empty. 

Then he heard a thump on the ceiling. Dean quickly drew his weapon. Moving as quietly as he could, he made his way to the back porch, adrenaline rushing through his veins. 

He’d just turned off the safety, about to rush out into the yard and aim up when he saw the worn boots that Castiel had begun to wear hanging off the edge of the roof over the porch. 

“Cas?” he said, lowering his weapon. Castiel was lying on top of the sloped cabin roof, his feet hanging off the edge. 

He was staring up at the sky. Instead of answering, Cas kicked out his feet as if to wave with them. 

Dean sighed. Cas had developed some pretty peculiar habits since his fall, but Dean had never found him sprawled out on top of the roof before. 

“What the fuck are you doing up there man?” he called, putting his gun back in its holster. 

“I’m flying Dean!” Cas replied, shakily sitting up and waving down at the man below him. 

“Come down here!” 

“No! Come up here, baby. You gotta see this!” 

Dean frowned. It had been a long time since Cas had been so animated. Grabbed the bowl of stew from the table and jumped up onto the porch swing. There, he could reach the gutter. He placed the bowl inside the gutter, dipping the bread in it, and hoisted himself onto the roof.

Cas smiled widely at him as Dean crawled over to where he was sitting and he lay back, his arms spread out wide. 

Dean sat down, securing himself with his feet in the gutters. He pointedly avoided staring at the ground. 

“What are you doing up here, angel?” he murmured. Cas rolled his head to the side and Dean noticed that his eyes were glassy. 

“I’m flying Dean.” he replied simply. “Look.” he waved his arms, staring up at the sky again. 

“It almost feels like the real thing,” Cas slurred. Dean took a bite of stew. 

“What did you take Cas?” 

Cas laughed loudly. “I woke up and it all hurt Dean. I hurt. And it pissed me off. I used to fly Dean. I used to be more powerful than anything else on earth. I used to sustain a wound like yesterday’s and be able to brush it off.” He paused, sitting up again. Dean had to force himself not to reach out and brace his hands as Cas swayed precariously close to the edge of the roof. “I want some of that,” he said and Dean dipped his spoon into the bowl and brought it to Castiel’s lips. 

“Cas, what did you take?” he asked again, this time more forcefully. 

“I woke up and my side hurt,” Cas shrugged. “So I took the morphine, and now I’m flying Dean!” 

Dread filled the pit of his stomach. 

“Cas, how much of the morphine did you take?” Castiel shrugged. 

“Dunno, don’ care, here give me some more. That tastes good!” 

Dean set the stew aside. “Castiel,” he brought his hands to either side of Cas’ face. “Tell me right now, how much did you take?” 

Cas shrugged him off. “Like a syringe full,” he leaned forward to kiss Dean, but Dean turned his head at the last second.. “I’m fine, baby. Just a little high.” 

“Dammit Cas, we’ve talked about this.” 

“No. You talked at me about this. I am perfectly fine being high. At least I get to forget about this how utterly useless I am. I don’t have to remember what it feels like to matter,” Cas reached out, snagging the bowl away from where Dean had set it. 

“You’re gonna sober up,” Dean said, his voice rising in the still night air. “I’ll make you if I have to!”

“Oh, you will, fearless leader?” Cas said, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “I’d like to see you try.” Then his expression softened. 

“I can’t lose you too Cas. I can’t. I won’t.”

“Just let me fly, Dean,” Cas’ voice was quiet. “Let me fly again.” Cas kissed him. 

“Just… promise me you’ll be safe about it okay?” he said finally and Cas murmured against his lips promises both of them knew he wouldn’t keep. 

The bowl of stew lay forgotten on the roof as they lay back, contemplating the cosmos. 


End file.
